Archive for the ‘Titillating Tuesday’ Category

Today at work we were asked to try on some new and different lingerie, so that we’d be able to tell customers more about each product they might be interested in, or had questions about. It was a good exercise in product knowledge. Great, I thought.

I grabbed about eight items of varying degrees of sexiness. For fun. Why not? My colleague did the same.

I have to say, most of the pieces of absolutely gorgeous lingerie was meant for a much younger version of me. A much taller, lankier, bustier version of me. But I complied and ventured forth into the…unknown.

First there was a brick red one piece item of thick lace weave, as well as an accompanying bra-let of the same version. They were not quite for me. Scratchy and awkward, meant for a meatier bust than mine. Oh well.

Next was a delicate onesie, soft pink ruffles with a chiffon rose at the hip. It was cute. It fit nicely. It was completely see-through. I guess if I had a significant other, ‘see through’ wouldn’t matter so much, but I just couldn’t visualize myself romping around my apartment in such a ‘sweet’ piece.

I tried on some very (very) expensive bras that didn’t fit well and that I wouldn’t pay even a quarter of the asking price for. I tried on boy shorts (I like), and silk (can do), and bras that can be worn everyday but have a bit of sass (yesss). All in all, it was a worthwhile assignment in retail comparisons. You don’t always get what you pay for, but a lot of the time you do. 

The ridiculously expensive brand was simply uncomfortable but perhaps it was meant to be worn only for, you know, show? Dunno. The regular expensive brand was all quality and comfort. And sometimes the super cheap was really, good enough. At least for me. I mean, my dog is very forgiving, and I feel comfortable romping around my apartment in cotton briefs and a baggy tee. Or nothing at all. Depending on what music is playing.

To be continued…

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The Compass

Posted on: January 31st, 2017 by Madison Lake No Comments

I was out with a friend last night, and after talking relationships (or non), and other such matters, the issue of morals came up.

mor·al  ˈmôrəl/

noun  plural noun: morals

1.

a lesson, especially one concerning what is right or prudent, that can be derived from a story, a piece of information, or an experience.

“the moral of this story was that one must see the beauty in what one has”

synonyms: lesson, message, meaning, significance, signification, import, point, teaching

“the moral of the story”

2.

a person’s standards of behavior or beliefs concerning what is and is not acceptable for them to do.

“the corruption of public morals”

synonyms: moral code, code of ethics, (moral) values, principles, standards, (sense of) morality, scruples

“he has no morals”

Of course that raised the question of upbringing, religious and/or ethnic background, education, even age and generation. My friend suggested I write a blog about moral values but I reminded her it is such a ‘yuge’ topic that one cannot simply blog about it. However, we had been talking about relationships, so that narrowed it down slightly.

How does one define moral values when it comes to relationships? Does it mean both parties should be of the same mind when it comes to commitment, loyalty, monogamy? Can one person, let’s say, slip up – have a ‘one off’ sexual encounter? Does that mean his or her moral values are wrong? Is there a difference between a ‘little lie’ and a ‘big lie’? How important is communication when considering moral values in a relationship?

The question remains deeply personal. It is ingrained in each of us. Our code of ethics may change over time, for the better or the worse. Your partner or potential partner, even your friend, could be well mannered, open doors, pull out chairs, say please and thank you, smile, but engage in illicit behaviour behind the scenes.

What is your moral standard? Consider how you live by it. Do you strive to be true to your belief system even when you feel hurt or angry or betrayed?

What is your moral barometer and how often do you check it?

Heavy stuff…but important.imgres-1

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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: January 10th, 2017 by Madison Lake No Comments

Excerpt from the short story The Big Move from the book Boudoir Stories

book-boudoir-stories

* * *

IRENE LAY SPRAWLED ON THE LAWN. A yellow and plum floral chemise hung loosely over her tanned skin as a cool northwesterly blew in across the lake. If she closed her eyes she could still feel his hands upon her body, smell the perfume of his manliness. Her pink nipples, rigid from the sudden breeze that had picked up, tingled under her flimsy garment, a remainder of the day’s sunlight softening. Or was it arousal from the thought of him? She rolled over so her stomach, breasts and pubic bone felt the crunch of grass beneath her. As her arms stretched out, her fingers dug into the moist earth and she took in the scent of raw, damp soil. Raw. Her back arched as if pressing into him, as if he was still with her as only moments ago he had been there, inside her. But he was gone.

* * *

“Where in the world have you been, Irene? Your sister has been looking everywhere for you.”

Irene’s mother barely looked up as her daughter slipped in through the kitchen’s side entry, but Irene knew her mother was aware of everything that went on in the grand estate at 51 Rue d’Calle. Ever since her mother, Vivian Carlton, had married the wealthy French diplomat, Pierre Duparte, Irene’s life had profoundly changed. She couldn’t exactly claim the changes had a negative effect. After all, she had met Gerard. Nonetheless, her mother, a homemaker from South Carolina, USA, had never been an easy person. Although educated, she was not worldly, nor did she have the natural elegance of someone who was. Vivian had moved them to New York City after inheriting a good deal of money in the divorce settlement from Irene’s father, and it was there her mother began to rub shoulders with the city’s social elite, where she quickly became a patron of the arts and a self professed New York socialite. Vivian had met Pierre at a cocktail party. For two years he traveled between his duties and commitments in France and his romantic courtship in New York City, until it was decided he and the stunning Vivian would marry and move to his country home in the south of France. Since that time, Vivian had become an overbearing French snob. Irene felt stifled in the gold-gilt palace cum farmhouse that was now her home. Her new half sister, Gwen, Pierre’s daughter from a previous marriage, did not mind the country estate. She was used to it, having grown up with all the comforts of aristocratic life. But rather than behave like an entitled Parisienne, which is where she had been raised and where she recently returned from, Gwen seemed surprisingly normal. Although she was older, twenty-three, and more mature than Irene, she had a playful side to her that Irene adored. It had only been six months that Irene lived at the large estate in the French countryside as part of her new family life, and only one month since Gwen had returned home from Paris, but Irene found her to be a sensible young woman with a great sense of humour. She was a breath of fresh air that grounded the household which, with Vivian’s neurotic tendencies, could spin out of control. Irene liked her.

Irene kissed her mother’s cheek, grabbed a slice of Gruyere off the wooden cheese platter that the cook had laid out for the evening’s soiree, kissed the cook’s cheek, which left her blushing, and dashed off to her bedroom. She had exactly one hour to prepare.

* * *

To read more, purchase Boudoir Stories on Amazon now. You’ll get a full collection of titillating short stories. Makes excellent bedtime reading and can be enjoyed again and again.

 

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romance novels author madison lake

***

Suddenly Peter slid up closely beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. She turned to him with a smile, thinking he was being sincerely sensitive to her situation, when he leaned in and placed his full lips on hers. She tried to pull away but he held her face in his hands and kissed her more intensely, his mouth melting into hers. Without realizing it, Joanie found herself giving in. She leaned into his palms, then into his body, hungry for this feeling that for so many years she had wondered about. Now she knew, and it felt wonderful. Their kisses became more passionate, wet and welcoming. But the more she relaxed and returned Peter’s advances, the more ravenous he became. With unnecessary harshness he pulled her toward him, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. At first his forwardness seemed to turn her on, but very quickly she became aware of an intensity she was not comfortable with. * From More Than Just Friends

***

Without a break, another song started. It was soft and sensual, an R&B piece, not the usual raunchy songs most of the strippers played. First he only saw a leg, long and lanky, move gracefully to the music. The dancer was in shadow at the very back of the stage. Whoever was attached to that leg had to be gorgeous, Liam thought. He wasn’t familiar with this piece or with this dancer. The leg was stockinged in black fishnets and on her foot was a very sexy, strappy heel with metallic rhinestones that caught the light when her foot moved. Her ankles were slim, and her leg seemed to go on forever. Liam wasn’t sure if the dancer was sitting on a stool while producing this tantalizing leg of hers, or whether she was standing up, but the lighting kept the rest of her body, which appeared to be dressed in black, well hidden. The audience could not see her even if they tried. Liam was riveted. * From Salon Antics

***

In the dream, the forest was shimmering, as if it were filled with fireflies. Each step he took upon the mossy ground ignited into a blaze of neon. Fairies and wood elves darted from log to log, branch to branch, in merry chase. Music played, women sang and danced, half naked in blissful abandon. There was one woman who stood out from the rest. Her auburn curls fell in layers, covering her body until they nearly touched the ground. But Henley could see her bronze, perfectly round breasts peek out from behind the curtain of hair, see a hint of knee, of delicious inner thigh, and two slender ankles. She smiled at him, then without warning, swept away the thick luxurious strands, revealing a body so provocative, so full and smooth and intoxicating, that it did more than take Henley’s breath away. It made him moan aloud in ecstasy. Rosetta dug her deft fingers deeper into his muscular shoulders and smiled. * From A Cloud of Hawthorne

***

“What’s a matter, lil birdy, am I scarin you?” He laughed and laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischievous desire. “Now, you must tell me where it ‘urts, lil bird. That’s your job. My job is to feel ‘round to find where you ‘urts. We got that now, birdy?” Proberta was quaking with fear but had no choice but do what this big man told her to do. Soon his large chafed hands were scratching against her soft skin. He rubbed and prodded and, she felt, looked in places he shouldn’t have looked. Finally, when he seemed to be finished with her he stood. Like a giant, his tall solid build seemed to match those of the highest standing trees in the forest. The question was, was he a friendly giant or an evil one? * From Where Daffodils Grow Wild

***

The familiarity of each other’s scent encompassed them. As if by rote, Lavinia followed Oliver’s exploring tongue with hers. Shivers ran up and down her spine. Excitement rose as the kisses became deeper and more sensual. Without being aware, Lavinia pressed herself against Oliver, her breasts reaching out for his touch. His fingers slipped down the front of her corseted frock until they reached the plump fullness of her desire. Although not large, her breasts were firm and round, her nipples hard with longing. He could feel the pulsating in his groin and knew if they kept on like this there would be no turning back. Oliver squeezed and then buried his face in her ripe bosom, inhaling her goodness before letting her go. * From Willow Wisp

***

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Babette screamed after him. He laughed and walked away, lighting a cigarette as he went. Babette ran after him but he grabbed her and put her in a quick choke-hold. “Listen darling, you’re too pretty for me to rough up so why don’t you just play by the rules. I’m on payroll right now. You don’t want to mess with me, trust me on that.” Babette squirmed in an effort to release herself, but to no avail. “Easy now, honey. Settle down.” The goon let his stranglehold go but spun her around to face him, holding her close. “Like I said, you don’t want to mess with me, got it?” Babette looked at the man’s face. His blue eyes shone a certain gentleness, even an honesty that surprised her. He smiled a crooked sort of smile that was seductively sweet. * From a story in Boudoir Stories

***

Now…don’t all these teasers want to make you buy the books? They should. How can you just sit there and be left hanging? Madison Lake books make excellent stocking stuffers and gifts for book lovers in your life. Go ahead. Buy one. Buy six! On Amazon.com.

Merry Merry from all of us here at Madison Lake dot com!
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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: December 13th, 2016 by Madison Lake No Comments

Excerpt from the book Salon Antics, chapter Showtime‘ book-salon-antics

Mitch arrived at the club around eleven, a bit early for him but by the way he

hovered around the bar tossing back shots, Liam figured he must have some

serious business to tend to. Twenty minutes later Dom arrived. He was dressed

to the nines; maroon silk shirt unbuttoned to his midriff, a gold chain hanging

in a nest of chest hair. He left his tailored leather jacket hanging open to show

off a gold plated belt buckle the size of Miami. The bottom of his tight black

trousers barely fit over his grey and beige snakeskin cowboy boots, which may

as well have had spurs on them with the noise they made when he walked into

the club.

“Gimme a JD, Harry, will ya? Straight-up.”

“Comin’ right up, boss.” Harry grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the bar

shelf and poured a generous amount into a tumbler. He handed it to Dom.

“Bottoms-up.” Dominic raised his glass to Harry and pounded back the

whiskey, followed by a vigorous shake of his head. “Gotta keep up with my pal

here.” Dominic winked at Mitch, who turned away. “Aw, c’mon now, Mitch.

We’re pals, right?” Dominic slapped his hand on Mitch’s back and pulled him in

close until he was breathing down his neck. Leaning in, but looking out into the

crowd he whispered, “We’re such good pals that you’re gonna give me a heckava

fucking deal for this joint, ain’t that right Mitchy baby?” Mitch squirmed out

of Dom’s embrace and Dominic laughed heartily. “What the fuck’s a matter

with you, Mitch? This is how we do business, right? Now, have yourself another

drink. Harry, pour Mitch another drink.” He turned to Mitch. “What are ya

having, Mitch, Crown? Harry, make that two Crowns.”

“No Dom, I’m having lighter fluid,” Mitch said with dry sarcasm. “Harry, get

Dom some lighter fluid. I’ll have a Crown, neat.”

Liam chuckled quietly from where he and Genevieve sat in the corner, shielded

in shadow.

“You have to admit,” Genevieve said. “That was pretty cute.”

Just then the side door opened and in walked three of Dom’s goons. They

sauntered over to the bar and lingered there, glancing nonchalantly around the

room. One of them ordered water with a twist and leaned against the bar to

watch the show. The other two just stood around chewing gum, looking bored.

Within a few minutes the door opened again and there stood Fran, having

stepped in from the dark alleyway. Smoldering in a fitted gold lame evening

dress with a Tiffany heart around her neck, and an ornate gold charm bracelet

on her left wrist, she looked the perfect part of the club owners wife. Barely

able to walk in her strappy Jimmy Choo’s, she did her best to stay upright while

making her way over to the bar, where Dominic stood with her husband. Their

tongues hung out of their open mouths like two panting dogs. Liam, who had

been watching the men’s jousting match with interest, now turned to

Genevieve.

“Is this your solution?” Genevieve looked down and smiled coyly…

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